


Bits and Pieces - Fragments and Jags

by Justwritingoutthedetails (notsafefortheworld)



Category: Undertale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:13:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafefortheworld/pseuds/Justwritingoutthedetails
Summary: One-shots or things that haven't happened /yet/ in-story, but are written out anyway.





	

Frisk's been itching, lately. Every time they see them do it, they gently bwap their hands away, only to recieve a heatless not-quite-a-glare from the kid. Their energy's been shifting and changing-or. Not quite _changing_ , so much as a part of it that was more of an _undertone_ seems to be coming out, strongly. They don't know what to make of it; Toriel can't 'smell' the way they can, and she's at a loss for what could be causing it.  
They're having their own issues, naturally; they keep discharging static electricity, which was funny at first, but now it makes them nervous because half the time they touch something they get a little jolt and the sound and the tiny flash. They think their own smell is changing, but it's kind of hard to smell _yourself_. They contemplate other oddities, laying on their back on the bed.  
There's a hysterical sort of sound from Frisk's room.  
They're off the bed and yelling something before a second's passed (and they're rather glad they've gotten the hang of moving around like this), through the hall and knocking on the door rapidly.  
" _Frisk, are you okay?!_ " Toriel's out in the garden, and they caught between getting her and getting to the bottom of the situation on on their own can't leave Frisk alone have to find out what's wrong-  
* _Come in_  
Their one is unsteady, tremoring. Etra opens the door somewhat slowly, just in case the kid's right by it.   
"Frisk, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Hesitation, a jerky sort of head-shake. They can't quite make out their facial features, besides a mouth pressed thinly into a line.  
They half-thrust their arm out in explanation. At first, they don't see anything. Then...  
"Do they hurt to touch?" They ask with a Calm Voice. Frisk shakes their head, hair fanning out as they do so.  
* _Not unless I pull on them_  
Etra frowns in thought.  
"I'm sure Toriel will know what it is," they half-lie in a convincing tone. Frisk hides a doubtful look after a second, but they catch it.  
"She'll be able to see them better than I can, at least. And this isn't exactly _human_ pervue. Toriel is _very_ non-human, so I think maybe she'll have a better idea than us. Okay?" They smile gently, bubbling panic well under wraps in the back of their head. Frisk says nothing, but nods, just a tinge of hope present.  
"Are they anywhere else?" Etra asks. "You're sure they don't hurt?"  
* _They just itch_ , Frisk tells them. They're not _calm_ , per se, but they aren't _completely flipping out_ , which Etra thinks they, personally, would be, probably.   
They frown as they notice a red spot on he arm Frisk didn't hold out, reach out before stopping themself and gesturing instead.  
"What happened there?" They ask lightly.   
* _I pulled_. Etra winces, slightly.  
"Ah. Why don't we go see Toriel, then? Or do you want me to go get her and you can stay here?" Frisk shakes their head, stands- the fingers of one hand flow dextruously over the nubs on their other arm. It doesn't seem to hurt, but Etra has to hold back a wince and bite their lip because they don't know what the look on their face is like but it's probably something approaching manic, so they try not to let Frisk see.  
They falter between leading and letting Frisk go first, then decide it would probably be better to act like an adult that knows what they're doing, keep calm, look calm, appear calm - don't freak out the kid.  
They could try to puzzle-sleuth out whatever this is, but Toriel is most likely better equipped in the first place and second place and last place and any other place-they forcibly tamp down on the whirlwind of thoughts. Those aren't going to help.   
The walk (they stride a bit ahead, trying to give the appearance of confidence, unsure whether they should be walking beside Frisk and trying to comfort them or if that would be rude or if they should just focus on getting them to Toriel as fast as possible or) is short, relatively, and Toriel is only right outside, thankfully.   
"My child! You seem-" they move out of the way so Frisk can come out, and the words catch in Toriel's throat. Her Intense Mothering face slams into place.


End file.
